The Sound of Silence
by queen of the moment
Summary: When Arthur moves to Paris for work, he meets the most annoying mime in a park during his lunch break. After turning down the mimes silent pleas for a date, Arthur hopes he'll never see the mime again. But of course, the universe hates him.
1. the sound of silence

Arthur absolutely, indisputably _despised_ Paris.

Of course it was not the first time he had realized this. He had been living there for almost two months by this point, and he had this revelation at least once a day. However, he normally did not feel such a total animosity as he was feeling at this particular moment in time. If he could he would jump at the chance to go back in time and pummel his past self for accepting the job promotion that forced him to move to Paris. Sure, the pay was wonderful, but it was not worth _this._

The cause of his pure, unadulterated fury was, of all things, a mime.

The universe must truly despise him, he decided. That was the only explanation for this torture, he thought as he watched the mime in front of him pantomime his heart bursting out of his chest and trying to hand it to Arthur. He was not amused.

Why did the mime choose _him_ of all people? Arthur tried to remember if he had done anything to make it seem like he was interested in mimes at all, let alone _this_ mime. He had just been eating his sandwich and watching a game of pick up football when the mime had started harassing him. Maybe it was his fault for choosing to have lunch in the park today. Obviously Parisian parks are not the family friendly places that they are made out to be. Apparently they are the most dangerous places to be.

"Please let me be." Arthur requested with as much annoyed politeness as he could muster. The mime, however, chose to ignore him and instead began acting like he was making out with the air. Arthur was still not amused, but he tried to force down the desire to slap him, and instead repeated the request in French. The mime did not so much acknowledge that he heard.

Arthur continued to demand the mime to leave him alone, and the mime continued to ignore him. After much deliberation, he came to the conclusion that it would be a smarter idea to simply cut his lunch hour short instead of, oh, I don't know, committing mime murders. He took a moment to wonder if a jury would truly convict him. After all, mimes were a plague of society; surely the world could do with less of them. Maybe if they instituted mime hunting season… no. Maybe that would work in England, but the French were peculiar people. It seemed that they actually _enjoyed_ this nonsense.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, Arthur crumpled up the paper his sandwich had been wrapped in and deposited it in the trash bin next to his bench and brushed the crumbs off his pressed suit trousers. This apparently sent the mime into a panic, for when Arthur looked up, the mime was waving his arms desperately.

"What is it?" Arthur scoffed. "Are you upset because I'm not going to give you a few Euros?"

The mime didn't respond, but Arthur was not expecting a response by this point. The mime was frantically pantomiming, which made it even harder for Arthur to figure out what he was trying to say. He was wretched enough at charades on a normal day, let alone when he had to guess what a hysterical mime was saying. When he finally worked it out, he didn't know whether to be angry or to laugh in his face.

"Are you trying to ask me out!?" Arthur spluttered, trying to resist the urge to slap him as hard as he could. He assumed Parisian courts wouldn't look too kindly on mime assaults, either. Curse the French and their affinity for wretched forms of entertainment. Arthur had been dragged to enough French existential films to be completely certain that the French had no decent form of entertainment.

The mime did not answer right away. Instead, he watched Arthur's lips with a look of complete concentration for a few moments before nodding enthusiastically. He seemed to be quite pleased that Arthur had understood. Of course, Arthur couldn't have _this_ of course. He stared at him incredulously for a few moments before he turned sharply on his heel and stormed off in the opposite direction in lieu of a proper answer.

It was rude, but Arthur couldn't find it in himself to particularly care. The mime was a pest, and after such a tiresome lunch, Arthur was not in the mood to feign politeness. Besides, the mime had not been polite to him! He had been asked multiple times to leave, and yet he continued to harass Arthur. If you weren't polite, you should not expect politeness in return.

Angrily storming through the park, Arthur was just glad to be putting more and more distance between him and that insufferable mime. Or so he thought. For just then he heard the heavy footfalls of someone running. However he paid it no mind, figuring it was just a jogger. Then he heard the running come to a halt and felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Arthur spun around to find out who exactly wanted his attention this time, and came face to face with the mime from which he had been trying to escape. Oh, buggerall.

He was panting lightly, wisps of his long, blonde hair had escaped its pony tail and were falling into his face, and he was holding that idiotic beret in his hands. He smashed it onto his head so that his hands would be free. He pressed them together as if he was praying, and he looked up at Arthur imploringly, silently begging for a date.

Arthur took in his slightly pathetic figure for a few moments before responding.

"Of course I'm not going to go on a date with you!" He exclaimed, barely noticing how the mime was watching his lips once more with determination. "You've been harassing me for almost an hour now! I you don't leave me alone, I will call the police!"

He wouldn't really, of course. He could just imagine how that conversation would go. Going to the police to report a crazy stalker mime was not high on the list of things sane people do. Arthur would probably be laughed out of the police station. Not that the mime had to know that.

He seemed to understand, because with a rather sad look on his face, he made a small gesture with his hand and stepped away from him. The mime bowed and turned to walk back in the direction of the bench Arthur had been sitting on.

As Arthur watched him go, he wondered for just a moment if perhaps he hadn't made the right choice in refusing the mime. Even though his face had been covered in black and white paint, Arthur could tell that he was handsome, and lord, those black pants had been so tight that it left nothing to the imagination.

But then again, the man had refused to speak even as he was trying to ask Arthur out. Besides that, he was a nuisance and he worked as a mime, for Christ's sake! Arthur was right in turning him down. He only considered it for a moment because it had been a rather long time since he had a good shag. It wasn't because the mime was unfairly attractive or that the whole situation was rather romantic. Of course not. Not at all.

Shaking these thoughts from his head, Arthur took one last look over his shoulder at the mime. He was acting like he was being pulled by a rope towards a group of giggling school children. He _was_ rather charming, though Arthur had no plans of admitting that. Taking one last look over his shoulder, he started the short walk back to his office building, considering the possibility that he may never see the mime again.


	2. nearer to peace than poems

It had been almost three weeks since his run in with the mime, and so far, Arthur thought he was doing a pretty good job avoiding him _and_ the park he busked in.

Unfortunately since the park was strictly off limits, he had no choice but to eat his lunch in his office. Not that his office wasn't nice! Quite the contrary, actually; since he was the head of the company's business in France, he had the nicest office with a gorgeous view of the park. The problem was that whenever he had lunch in his office, he would end up working and letting his food go to waste.

After three weeks of stressful, busy lunches he was unable to take it anymore. As soon as it was time for his lunch break, he informed his secretary that he wouldn't be back for at _least_ two hours, and if she tried to contact him before then she would be promptly fired. Leaving his (now terrified) secretary to reschedule all his afternoon appointments, he stormed outside and into the fresh spring air.

There was a café nearby that he had been meaning to try for weeks, but he had not had a chance before now. Pushing open the door, he was overcome with the scents of ground coffee beans, fresh baked breads, and sugary confections. The atmosphere instantly put him at ease and he could almost feel his bad mood dissipate. For the first time in weeks he had the promise of a relaxing lunch break.

Stepping up to the counter, he smiled at the waitress as he looked over the blackboard the menu was written on; not noticing someone come in behind him. Arthur stood there for a few moments as he decided what to order; but as soon as he finally made up his mind he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He spun around, ready to deliver a lecture on patience to the other patron, but instead he was surprised to realize that he recognized the person, though he could not remember how he knew the man. Arthur was surprised; the man was incredibly attractive for a Frenchman and he could not understand how he had managed to forget him.

This line of thought was abruptly cut off; however, when the man gave him a charming smile and began waving his arms wildly; pointing at Arthur and himself giddily. Realization overcame him suddenly, and recoiled from the man. It had been difficult to recognize him without his make-up, but there was now no doubt in his mind.

It was the mime from the park.

The universe really must hate him, Arthur decided wearily. For some reason it seemed to take umbrage with the idea that he could have a nice, relaxing lunch break. But then again… then again, what were the chances that this was a coincidence? That out of the millions of people in Paris, how could he see this man a second time? What if Arthur's first impression was right and that he was being stalked by an insane stalker mime?

"Are you following me?" Arthur spluttered, never one to beat around the bush. "I'll report you to the police; I swear to god!" He yelled, even though he remembered how they would react from the last time he pursued that line of thought. The mime did not answer, though the smile fell from his face.

"How dare you accuse him of such things!" Arthur spun around to see the waitress whom had looked so sweet and kind in her little apron and purple bow, eyes blazing in fury at Arthur's accusations. He was taken aback, but she did not give him any time to recover before she spoke once more.

"Stop gawking at me!" She yelled, snatching an empty coffee urn off of the counter and holding it threateningly. "Do you normally go around yelling at the disabled, accusing them of heinous crimes?" She slammed the urn against the counter, causing everyone in the café to jump.

"I- disabled- what?" Arthur stuttered, looking back at the mime whom was waving his arms wildly in an attempt to get everyone to calm down.

"If anything," the waitress continued, not paying any mind to Arthur's confusion or the mime's agitation. "_You_ would be the one following _him_! Francis has been one of my most loyal customers since I opened four years ago! He has lunch here almost every day."

She glared at him with eyes full of malice before she turned to the mime now identified as Francis. Giving Arthur one last cautionary glance, she began to move her hands with grace, forming word after word. Francis made a frustrated noise and began signing back quickly, gesturing to Arthur a few times. As Arthur watched this display, the situation finally sunk in and for the first time since he had encountered the mime, he understood.

"You're deaf." It was a statement, not a question; for now the events of their meeting in the park weeks before made perfect sense. Francis hadn't left him alone because he had not heard Arthur's request to do so. He hadn't responded to Arthur's threats because he didn't have the ability to do so.

The realization that one has been acting like an idiot is never a pleasant experience, especially when your idiocy is so painfully obvious to those around you. It had been obvious that Francis was deaf, and yet Arthur had refused to see it because he had been so predisposed to hate the man.

"Oh Christ," Arthur groaned, leaning on the counter and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips in an attempt to ward of a quickly approaching migraine. After a few moments he lifted his head and turned to the waitress rather desperately. "Please tell him that I am incredibly sorry; I had no idea he was deaf."

"Tell him yourself." The waitress sighed, handing him an order pad and a pen. "I'm trying to run a business, and I don't have time to be your translator during the lunch rush. I have other customers." She signed something to Francis quickly before bustling away.

Arthur looked at Francis warily for a few moments before leaning over the counter to scribble a quick message. "Can I make it up to you by paying for your lunch?"

The smile came back to his face as he read the note and wrote out his response carefully. "Only if I can eat it with you." He flashed the pad to Arthur, whom after a few moments nodded to show his consent. Francis clapped his hands in delight before handing him another note. "I knew that I would be able to convince you to go on a date with me."


End file.
